


They Don't Make Them Like This Anymore

by D4tD (dance4thedead)



Series: Y2k [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky has his memories, Drug Use, HYDRA Trash Party, Internalized Hipsterphobia, Internalized Homophobia, Jukebox Fic, M/M, Not beta'd: we die like irresponsible chaotic loners, Podfic & Podficced Works, Songfic, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:40:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22083517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dance4thedead/pseuds/D4tD
Summary: As a safety measure against the Year 2000 computer glitch, Hydra pulls the Asset out of the cryo and relocates it to a remote location with no active tech or orders. In the year 2011, the tradition continues.The New Years Eve dumpsterfire songfic nobody asked for.
Relationships: Brock Rumlow/Jack Rollins (UST), James "Bucky" Barnes/Brock Rumlow, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Y2k [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2085201
Comments: 9
Kudos: 39





	They Don't Make Them Like This Anymore

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Таких больше не делают](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25033192) by [Kana_Go](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kana_Go/pseuds/Kana_Go)
  * Translation into English available: [[podfic] They Don't Make Them Like This Anymore](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24181108) by [D4tD (dance4thedead)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dance4thedead/pseuds/D4tD)



> \---------------  
> Non-penetrative rape  
> Touch starved  
> Faked out MCD(? Rumlow is a magnificent bastard)  
> Referenced gangrape/trash parties

The explosions were right outside the walls. His legs tried to move, to go, but he fell sideways across the lumpy sofa. Hands hefted him back into a sitting position and held him firmly in place. 

“Easy, easy,” soothed a familiar voice. “It’s okay. Open your eyes.”

His vision focused on the point of a needle. One of his Strike Team agents, (name? Brock Rumlow) waved a syringe between them.   
“Hey, Killer. Am I going to have to use this, or are you gonna be good for me?” 

Captured. Hydra. Safe house. Easy, easy. Familiar. It’s okay.

His pulse was all over the place. The world tilted slightly, then everything jolted to a stop. Touchdown on a runway.

"'Course I'm gonna have to tase you a time or two, for accounting purposes," Rumlow said.

It was just the two of them this time. There was a bit of gray in Rumlow's hairline.

"Well?"

Bucky hacked up phlegm before he managed to find his voice. 

“Table’s gonna break if you keep sitting on it,” Bucky murmured, his own accent and intonation feeling alien to him.

"There's my guy!" Rumlow ruffled Bucky's hair like a proud father. The needle got capped and stored, then Rumlow plunked down next to him and unpaused the game on the TV screen. Something with cars and property damage.

Boom. 

Condensation trickled down the items on the coffee table: a bong and an empty can of Guinness and a half empty can of something called a “Monster.” They were making water rings.

Boom. Boom.

Bucky's free hand clenched.

“That one’s different.”

Rumlow took a moment to catch up, but then snorted. “Red bull went to shit. You can’t expect everything to stay the same year to year.”

“Everything else does,” Bucky scoffed, giving a jerky nod to his metal arm. It was disabled and 48 pounds of dead weight pulling hard at his neck and good shoulder, despite the polyester sling.

“The temporary solution seems to be a viable permanent solution, to quote the Secretary. Which is politician-speak for: if it ain’t broke…Fuck!" The game-car crashed and high-anxiety music started to play.

Rumlow glanced over at him at the worst moment, right as he tensed up again at the too-much-too-fast stimulus. He put aside the controller.

"Oh come on, this isn’t the worst Hydra tradition. It’s no Cinco de Mayo.” Rumlow dropped his hand to Bucky’s knee. 

Boom.

On the inhale, Bucky stifled a reflex. On the exhale he gritted out, “Just put that Mario Lopez guy up on the tube.”

“He’s not hosting this year. Also all of the artists performing this year are bullshit.”

“Could you put something on?”

Bucky’s head snapped to the side as Rumlow backhanded him at half-strength. No bleeding, minimal damage sustained. He glared up at Rumlow, who was now standing over him. 

“Please.”

“Quit being a brat.”

“This isn’t the first time we’ve… you know better,” Bucky shot back, exasperated. “Please sedate me.” 

Rumlow got up. Bucky let his head drop back as he tried to tune everything out. 

When Rumlow returned, he put a cool can in Bucky’s hand.

“Cheers,” Rumlow said, and popped the tab for him with a satisfying click-hiss. Then he twisted the cap off a Yuengling and downed about a third of it.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“One thing at a time,” Rumlow said, taking a squat in front of the TV.

Bucky looked at the white-red-blue can warily. “Are you going to make me pay for it?”

Rumlow laughed, idly rolling a gold bottle cap over his fingers. “Don’t worry, this isn’t Vientiane. First one's free.” 

Melancholy guitar chords began to pour from the speakers. The song didn’t quite drown out the outside, but it pulled his mind away to somewhere softer. A male vocalist came in with the melody. 

“This loud enough for you?”

Bucky gave him a small nod. 

“Good. Drink your shitty hipster beer, soldier,” Rumlow instructed, settling back on the sofa, buzzed and glowing. He lined it up with the rest of the containers, labels facing out. “This one is by Radiohead. It’s good, isn’t it?”

**_I don’t belong here..._ **

“I’m not supposed to have an opinion,” Bucky said without really thinking.

A hand moved between them and reached under Bucky’s shirt, thumbing at his hip bones. “What happens on New Years…” Rumlow began. 

Bucky looked away and took a long sip of his beer. It was heaven in his mouth, but the aftertaste was all blood and gasoline. It used to come in a bottle, he thought. Because aluminum...

His teeth clenched as the hand moved lower, past his waistband.

“I know. My head’s cleared. I remember Y2K.” Fingers ghosted over his inner thigh. “You got old.”

He stiffened and ground his feet into the carpet as Rumlow’s palm wrapped around his dick. 

**_I wanna have control..._ **

“I betcha the years it’s not me babysitting, you miss me.”

A stroke up and the aluminum can in Bucky’s hand crumpled. Rumlow laughed at that, too. Called him sloppy.

“Did Jack make you this mixtape?” he bit out, fighting not to squirm as Rumlow fondled with the tip. It felt good, there was no denying it. It was soft and didn’t hurt. 

After a moment, Rumlow said, “Agent Rollins built the six-pack. I picked the tracks.”

“Was Rollins supposed to be the one watching me this year?”

Rumlow paused. “Yeah.” His hand snaked out of Bucky’s pants. Bucky forcibly resisted the urge to press his knees together while Rumlow wiped his hand off on him and grabbed the bong. Rumlow coughed. “He’s on a date. Get this, she’s a fucking second grade teacher.”

Rumlow leaned back, blowing more smoke and speaking more to the ceiling fan than anyone else. “She volunteers and gardens and all that goody-goody shit and what the hell does she see in him?”

He pulled down Bucky's pants and got his hand back around his dick, starting to stroke him off in earnest. “Rollins is scum. He’s deadbeat material. He’s violent and he drinks too much and can’t cook a brisket worth a damn and wouldn’t mow a lawn or go down on a woman even if you held a knife to his cojones and WHY aren’t you hard?” Rumlow huffed. 

Rumlow eyed him like he actually expected a response, like he actually was daring him to say that it felt like a lot, but in all the wrong places. That the touches made him feel seasick and starving, but just as Bucky opened his mouth, an alarm chimed.

“Well, sweetheart, happy fucking new year,” Rumlow said, silencing his watch. He flung a leg over his waist to straddle him. Then he leaned down and kissed his lips sweet and gently.

Bucky moaned into it and hardened up. Hated it, but couldn’t help it with Rumlow warm in his lap, nuzzling and grinding on him. His hips thrust up seeking more. It wasn't fair, they were never this nice to him, never did it without an excruciating amount of pain. Pierce nearly choked him to death the first time. One time they fucked him while someone excised skin from his leg.

The can fell out of his hand as Bucky reached around to grab a handful of ass. Rumlow praised how good he was as he rocked against him.

The sound of gospel harmonies dragged Bucky’s attention away. “Wait, wait,” he mumbled, pushing away at him. “I know this song. I know how it goes.”

“Christ, can you kill a mood.” Rumlow sighed, adjusting himself in his pants with his free hand. “Yeah. It’s Queen. It’s a classic.”

Bucky turned his head to the side. “I remember it.” 

“It’s old, but not _you_ -old.”

“No. You played this song for me before. But it wasn’t on a CD.” 

**_I just gotta get out of this prison cell. One day I’m gonna be free..._ **

“There, that part right there. It was this day, years ago. When it was just the two of us. For a moment, you considered--”

Bucky jolted as Rumlow dug a thumb nail into his cock. A finger was held up to his lips. 

“Listen,” Rumlow curled over him to say low into his ear. “I was young. It’s not going to happen.”

“What made you change your mind?” Bucky hazarded to ask.

Rumlow had to look away. In place of an answer, he chose instead to kiss down his jaw, nibble and lick into his mouth, leaving behind tastes of smoke and molasses. 

**_Somebody find me..._ **

“How about another drink? Heineken?” Rumlow offered once he broke away.

“What aren’t you telling me? I know what gets you like this.”

**_Love, love, love, love…_ **

“Hm?”

“Getting away with something right under someone’s nose,” Bucky said, his better judgement telling him not to touch a sore.

Rumlow looked him over, cooly. "You willing to ante up?"

Bucky dry swallowed, then nodded.

The edges of Rumlow’s mouth perking up was the only tell that he made before he grabbed him by the throat and slammed him back-first on the sofa. Bucky tried to lurch back up, but the weight of the metal arm and his good shoulder hanging off the side made any sort of leveraging impossible. 

There was a sequence that lit up in his mind, a half-kip leg lock that he could execute, spring Rumlow off him and hold him in his thighs (the way he’s done a million times, he used to teach them…)

He didn’t. He lay back. Listened to a zipper unzip and clothing get shuffled down. He let time tick past as Rumlow climbed over him and reversed, hovering his hole and ballsack over his nose and mouth.

**_I’m not half the man I used to be…_ **

Let Rumlow ride his face and stroke himself all while whispering obscene encouragements. 

Rumlow finally rolled off of him after painting cum stripes down his throat. He wiped off on Bucky’s shirt, pulled his boxers and pants back over his ass, and settled on the carpet. 

“Now will you tell me?” Bucky asked, doing his best to wipe off his neck.

“That Red Room shit really sticks with you, huh?” Rumlow said when he caught his breath. He pulled two cigarettes from the black box in his pocket, lit one and tucked the other behind his ear.

“They found him,” Rumlow finally said. “Even checked dental records to make sure it was actually him. As if the getup wasn't a dead give away.”

Bucky kept his expression somewhere in the realm of neutral. 

“SHIELD found the wreck at the bottom of the Atlantic a couple of months ago. He's been down with the fishes for about as long as you've been with us, they figure.” 

**_Now I long for yesterday..._ **

“You gonna tell me next that Jesus still walks the countryside and Johnny Appleseed's his cousin?” he tried to say lightly.

“I'm telling the truth,” Rumlow countered, tapping ash into the empty Guinness can.

“Sure you are.”

“Come on, I don’t need to lie to you. Ever. That’d be coercion and I’m not that kind of guy.” 

Bucky snorted. 

“Fine, don’t believe me. It’s not like I’d be privy to corpse pics.”

“In ‘46 they told me that the Soviets captured him. In ‘52 they told me that the United States government put him down. In ‘63 they told me that he was on a mission in space and he got himself stranded out there. With aliens.” 

“If you're waiting for me to "peanut butter", don't hold your breath.”

“I won't,” Bucky said boldly. “Because I know Hydra doesn’t have him. Keeps me fucking cozy at night. He beat you and he moved on and he got his happy fucking ending and none of you fascist bastards could touch that.”

**_You don’t care if it’s wrong or if it’s right..._ **

“I told you they found him at the bottom of the Atlantic a few months ago.”

“But can you prove it?” 

“Yeah.” Rumlow said, spinning the bottle cap on the table. “'Cause I'm a boss at connect-the-dots.”

“You can't make a meal out of hot air.”

“Give us some credit. The team’s good at a lot of things. Did you know that one of our own can grill up a mean plant-based burger? Well me, my schtick ain't a metal arm, but…”

“You’re not as special as you think. I can read you, Rumlow, like the Sunday paper.”

“Catch this headline, then, pal. Captain America, the ship he went down on, and the things he carried. Tags. Steel pennies. A compass.”

He held up the bottle cap. Gold side. Gray side. One side said America’s Oldest and had an eagle on it. One side was plain.

“Flip it open and you have Carter’s pretty face staring back atcha’. But see, the edges were real worn, like someone had made a habit of turning that photo over.” 

**_Put on the red light. Put on the red light..._ **

"What might that other side have that was so worth looking at?"

Gold side. Gray side. Bucky shivered. 

“You know, everyone wrote about how life-like Roger's sketches were,” Rumlow continued. “Stark Senior. The Asian gramps. And they’re right, mostly. But the eyes, the eyes, Stevie didn’t do too good. He drew the eyes so angry in that compass, when in reality, yours look quite dim.”

The world hollowed to a point. The table went flying, glass narrowly missing the TV screen. Bucky got two steps upright before his knees gave out. He doubled over as bile rose up his esophagus and threatened to spill out over the carpet.

“Settle. Settle!”

“Fuck. Off,” Bucky choked out. His eyes were wet. He hadn’t let anything get to him in years. He was so present and couldn’t get out of his head, (malfunction, unready to comply). His walls were strong and solid and could take nearly any other cruelty thrown at him. But Steve gone was like... Steve gone was like finding a crater in the ground where your home was.

“Hey, I just wanted to help you find closure, man.” Rumlow rubbed circles on Bucky’s back, between his stiff, shaking shoulder blades.

**_I won’t share you with another boy…_ **

“You've been keeping that candle in the window for far too long. It's not healthy. My guys wanted to keep stringing you along, but it didn't feel right. So you're welcome. He's got a spot in Arlington, I think.” Rumlow dropped the butt in a can on the floor.

“That's…” In his mind, he saw a green field with a fresh plot. He’d drop down into it and let the earth swallow him whole. “I heard that's a nice one. I'm glad he made it home.”

Rumlow got his hands into Bucky’s hair, and Bucky found himself leaning into caresses. Letting his handler take some of his weight for a few quiet minutes.

“You're lucky that he wasn't in any kind shape that we could pull apart,” Rumlow said as he pet him. “Sample some supersoldier eyeball cells or brain jello. You know, for science. Hail Hydra.”

“Fuck you,” Bucky mumbled, but it failed to be as bitter as he intended.

“Yeah, I need to work on my pillow talk,” Rumlow said, pulling him into his arms.

**_Does the pain weigh out the pride…_ **

“Just. Just don't talk.”

“I like you. You're more entertaining when you’re self-aware. Maybe I should petition for you to be more like this at the next company hoedown.”

Bucky flinched away from his reach. 

“I’ll bite off your testicles.”

“Nah, you’re house broken, but it’s fun watching you think you can. And we’ll juice you down the next time we play house. Promise.”

**_Give up the fight..._ **

“Don’t you get that that doesn’t make it better?”

“At least when you're a limp noodle you end up with a few dozen less broken bones,” Rumlow shrugged.

“It doesn’t matter if I’m swinging a punch or sucking a cock or drooling ‘cause you jokers got me so fried I can’t think up what the color blue looks like; I’m still fighting in here, as much as I can and that MATTERS. Even if I’m on my own--”

“You getting hurt more than you need to is pointless, dumbass. Pick your damn battles.”

“Who the fuck do you think you’re fooling with this act?” Bucky screamed. “I know you don’t care and I know you’ve got your wires crossed! I’ve taken Sheila dancing when I was really after Barry.”

“I’m not a faggot. I’m a pragmatist.”

“Keep throwing stones from glass closets, Commander."

“I'm not gay for you or anyone else, jeez. I’m asserting dominance. The Winter Soldier, conquered viscerally. Entirely. Annually. Loading up my Bucky Bear and returning it ready for the next time, like an Elf on the Shelf. I’d do the same damn thing to Rollins if he gets to looking me too square in the eye. Hell, if your Captain were here, I’d be making him my bitch, too. Or maybe I'd just make him watch.”

Bucky bristled and got his two feet under him to stand. Rumlow also picked himself up, kicking away trash. 

“Oh heyo, it's fun to get under your skin, buddy boy,” Rumlow grinned savagely and squared off. “Come on, hand up, take a shot. You've got that look in your eye I thought Pierce beat clean out of you. Take your damn shot at me. First one’s free.”

Bucky was mad enough that he went for it, knowing the game was rigged. Fighting one-handed was one thing, but fighting in a brace designed to put him off balance meant he was out matched in anything hand-to-hand. 

Rumlow dodged his kick and tried to slam a knee into Bucky’s exposed liver. Bucky opted to take the fight to the floor, catching Rumlow in an armlock on the way down. 

Suddenly the artificial nerves in his prosthetic misfired. Bucky grabbed at the joint like it was about to fall out of place, then arched up on the carpet as sharp nerve pain radiated through him.

When the sensations subsided, Rumlow was on the sofa, scrolling on his phone. The music was off. 

“You wouldn't have gotten far, anyway, Bucky. That was why,” Rumlow said, softly. “Order through pain. You do what you've gotta do to survive." He tossed his phone aside, took a hit and closed his eyes. "I wasn't kidding about going down easy. Give it a go: you just might be able to piss standing up the next day. Stop making this so damn hard on yourself.”

He stood carefully. “But it's what he would do,” he said firmly, fondly. 

He grabbed the Heineken from the fridge. Worth it, even with later payment due. He turned the music back on and took a seat next to Rumlow while the last three verses of the Green Day song played. 

His finger rubbed over the bottle cap, his star on Steve’s shield. 

**_You and I._ **

**Author's Note:**

> Critique/comment friendly. (Roast me, cowards). Tags/warnings open to any suggestions.
> 
> Radiohead  
> The Beatles  
> Queen  
> The Police  
> Green Day


End file.
